image by author, copyright 2018

gambol

children
gambol like
wind skitters
across cold waters.

(aimless) — (buffeted by pure wave length) — (a beatific chaos)

i used to play
with sand,
weeds and gypsum.
imagining worlds burrowed
within knee high grasses.

(insects in huts) — (tribulations of grasshopper councils) —
(serpents = a furtive devil’s fingers)

now,
the earth
is nothing
but ants
and grubs in the dirt.

now,
i’ve misused life
long enough to
know everything dies,
no matter how delicate.

(beauty a sprout) — (a delicate stem) — (or a gossamer wing)
(touch it) — (see how it falls a part)